


The Trade of Queens

by tristesses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/F, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy Parkinson always gets what she wants, and she's decided she wants Cho Chang. Cho, however, has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trade of Queens

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a slight AU where Cho is at Hogwarts after she's graduated, but the reasons are explained in the fic. Written 1/25/2011.

**I.**  
In her blackest moods, Cho suspects that Pansy Parkinson is stalking her.

The Slytherins have much more leeway to roam the halls than any members of the other houses do, no matter how compliant their behavior, so of course it makes sense that Parkinson would show up in some of the places Cho does; if she can get away with skiving off class, then why not go to the Great Hall, or have snowball fights outside with her aspiring Death Eater friends? Cho has seen her, surrounded by a little court of pure-blooded Slytherins (and some Hufflepuffs, even some Ravenclaws - _traitors_ ), the Lady Pansy to Malfoy's Lord Draco, heirs to their respective ancient wizarding bloodlines. Or at least that's how it seems, like they're royalty, with their little sycophants bowing and scraping - and some of those people were Cho's friends, people who'd supported Harry in the past; it makes Cho _sick_.

"Out of the way," a voice snaps, splintering her train of thought, and Cho shivers, presses herself against the wall as the elder Carrow trudges down the winding stairs, wand tapping a cheery rhythm against her meaty thigh as she goes. She can't stand it any more, here with these people, though her parents keep telling her to keep her head down, stay quiet, stay unnoticed; the only smirch on her record is her seditious uncle, married to a Muggle, riot-causer and anarchist, and dead for some years now. Cho never even met him; she'd think that would be enough to distance her from his reputation, but among Death Eaters, reputation is everything. She still isn't safe - and maybe that's why Parkinson is following her, she realizes in a flash of clarity. After all, Parkinson's natural habitat is hardly the library, or skulking around the girls' loo closest to the Ravenclaw common room. She could be keeping an eye on Cho, making sure she didn't inherit any of her uncle's habits - it would explain why Cho was forced to come back to Hogwarts another year, as well. Monitoring the purebloods with suspicious family histories seems like a very Death Eater sort of thing. And this way, they can keep her parents in check, threaten to punish their little girl if they dare to step out of line - maybe _that's_ why they keep encouraging her to go along with Snape's new rules.

As the details fall into place, coalescing into a picture where Cho is a pawn (worse than that, a _tool_ ), Cho's anger rises from a slow simmer in her stomach to a boil in her chest; it's almost painful, like a constant stitch, but not more so than the mental image of her parents (and other parents, almost every pureblood student in her year returned as well, except for those who fled England with their families) cringing under You-Know-Who's dictates - no, Voldemort's, she'll say the name in her head, see if they can catch her! And there is stupid Parkinson being Head Girl, and poor Ginny Weasley; half her family's ill or injured or on the run, and she's trapped at Hogwarts. At least she's doing something, she and Neville Longbottom and a scattered few other Gryffindors.

Footsteps, echoing up through the stairwell, and Cho realizes that she can't be caught frozen on the stair, glaring into nothingness, and what if Carrow had sent somebody to come hunt her down? What if it's Parkinson? Cho stoops to grab her bag, which she'd let slip off her shoulder sometime in the past five minutes, and when she straightens it _is_ Parkinson, arms crossed, perched a few steps below. Sneering; she has a good sneer, full lips in a too-sharp face. Cho wills her own expression to stay neutral, and says, "Hello, Pansy."

"What are you doing up here, Chang?" Parkinson asks, and flicks her eyes over Cho's body, as if searching for proof of mischievous spellcasting or something, anything, to catch her at. "Ravenclaws finished Divination ages ago."

"Yes, well," says Cho, and does her best not to quail at Parkinson's cruel dark eyes; bravery, even in the face of mild danger, is not her strong suit. Give her a broom and a Snitch to chase over personal confrontation any day. She flashes a smile, hopes it's authentic. "I - left my quill in the classroom. It's my favorite, peacock feather; I didn't want to lose it."

"Merlin, you are _brainless_ ," Parkinson says disgustedly, and tosses her hair with a snort. "Don't you know that you can't be in the Astronomy Tower without an escort? You'd better be glad I'm here, and not someone else; Professor Carrow hates students who linger."

"You're not going to turn me in?"

Parkinson sniffs, and looks like she's really considering it. "Not if you give me your quill."

Cho's grandmother had given her that quill; she cherishes it, and the thought of parting with it makes that anger briefly flare inside her. But it's stupid to argue, especially with Parkinson, especially over a quill. Cho flips open her bag and fetches the quill, and sets it mutely in Parkinson's outstretched hand. Parkinson closes her fingers around it too quickly, before Cho has completely let it go, and nearly catches Cho's hand in hers. Cho has a Seeker's reflexes, though, and swiftly yanks her hands away. Parkinson looks at the quill, or at her hand, Cho can't quite tell, for a long moment, and Cho looks too. Her fingers aren't long or particularly slim, but they're soft and pampered and scarless; Parkinson probably hasn't had to do manual labor once in her life. Still, they're nice enough hands, Cho concedes.

"What are you waiting for?" Parkinson snaps, and Cho glances up, startled. Parkinson jerks her head to the side, and adds, with exaggerated slowness, "Go _away_ , Chang."

"Sorry," Cho says automatically, even as resentment burns into an icy layer over the anger inside her, "sorry, I'm going."

She nearly runs down the stair, waiting for Parkinson's footsteps behind her, but none come. After two flights, Cho slows, and takes a few deep breaths. She simply can't do this anymore, can't take the forced politeness and constant fear, the realities of living in what amounts to a dictatorship. She has to take action. But how?

Ginny Weasley. She and Neville, they're staging a mini-revolution right under the Carrows' noses. It's dangerous, yes. Cho thinks, though, that she might be able to handle it; definitely could, if she had friends. All she needs is a way to make Ginny trust her, some inside information, or some weakness of the enemy's; after their shared history with Harry, Ginny had made it clear that she doesn't like Cho. So, something to convince her….Cho knows she can't risk having an out-and-out fight with anyone, even other students (even Parkinson). Her wandwork is excellent, of course, but she could never stand up to the torture she's heard other rebels go through, and she's not sure she could hold her own in a two-or-more-on-one duel, either.

Cho reaches the landing, returning to ground level, and pauses, but Parkinson isn't following her, or at least not yet. Half-formed plans are swirling in her brain, convoluted and twisting every which way, evolving rapidly. Cho's never plotted anything this risky before, but she likes it, and she's good at it, too. She's a Ravenclaw; she has more weapons at her disposal than a wand and sheer courageous idiocy.

 

 **II.**  
Rooted to the stair, Pansy grips the hand holding the peacock quill to her chest and shudders under a wave of righteous indignation, tinged with something vibrant and crimson she can't quite place. Cho Chang - that filthy blood traitor actually touched her! Practically took her by the hand, as if they were familiar - _intimate_. As if she knew what dirty scenarios played out in Pansy's mind nearly all the time: in class, with Draco, patrolling the corridors - but never near Professor Snape. Pansy has a sneaking feeling that he could tell what she was daydreaming about, and that topic is not a secret she wants to bring up with the headmaster. Here, though….

Peeking down the stairs despite her surety that she's alone - Professor Carrow passed her on her way up, after all, and Chang is gone - Pansy lets her eyes drift shut and allows her mind to wander. Chang's legs - _Cho's_ legs, underneath her skirt. Covered in knee socks, but Pansy could still see the curve of her calves through the material, even the delicate skin at the inside of her knee, soft and golden - oh, Pansy wants to put her mouth there, wants to _bite_. Can imagine the soft, breathy cry Cho would make, the quiver of her thighs at the burst of pain.

(Here in the present, Pansy draws the peacock feather against her cheek, her clavicle. Goosebumps prickle on her skin; she teases her mouth with the quill and drops her other hand to her breast, brushing a thumb over her nipple, squeezing lightly.)

Cho naked, yes, Cho on her knees - no, on her back, legs spread. Wrists tied above her head, bound to the floor. She'd beg - oh yes, she'd beg - Pansy wouldn't let her go. Would pinch and nip and lap at her skin, at her breasts, suck and bite at her nipples until Cho was begging, trying to grind up against Pansy but she'd have nowhere to go, Pansy wouldn't put a knee between Cho's legs for a long time, she'd make her squirm, maybe charm her legs apart so she couldn't even press her thighs together, she would be exposed and dripping to the air without getting even a taste of that sweet friction she needs.

(The quill discarded, Pansy is leaning against the wall with her head tossed back, mouth open and red from biting her moans back. She's got one hand shoved inside her half-unbuttoned shirt, practically abusing her nipple with her nails, sending shivers up her spine; the other is under her rucked-up skirt, under the fine material of her knickers. Each time she drags her fingers across her clit, rough and quick, it's wet and slick and she can hear slide of liquid against skin. She is so close.)

Cho would be crying now, needing to come so badly, and arching her back and fucking the air and begging, "Please, Pansy, oh please oh please kiss me, please lick me, please fuck me - " and Pansy would say, silkily, "Call me mistress," and only when Cho does - and it would take some time, an inestimable stretch of time where Pansy draws Cho out taut as a dragon-gut harp string - only when Cho cries "Please, Mistress, please!" would Pansy bury her face between Cho's legs and lick and nuzzle and torture her fine little clit, And smart, snotty, sexy Cho Chang would come, straining against her bonds, with Pansy Parkinson's name on her lips.

(She's skimming the tip of her clit with the pad of her finger, then suddenly circles hard and rubs in short little bursts, and that - that's _it_ , she's gone, the sensation crests and explodes and Pansy's head snaps back, thunking against the stone wall, and her back arches hard and involuntarily and her thighs clench tight together, trapping her hand between them, and she is completely, totally silent while she shakes and rides out the wave.)

Pansy opens her eyes. The grey stone of the wall opposite stares back, as if it's judging her for the subject of her fantasies. _Pansy Parkinson can't even get a blood traitor to fuck her, so she's reduced to wanking in the Astronomy Tower like a third-year with her first crush._

She knows, of course, that the walls aren't actually speaking; she isn't _stupid_ , for Merlin's sake. But she does wish she had someone to talk to, even just someone to fuck, to touch - Draco's been _so_ uncommunicative lately…

Pansy considers the wall, and says, tentatively, "Who says I can't make Chang do what I want?"

Who, indeed. She's a Parkinson, after all, and Head Girl, and what would the teachers care if she shagged some Ravenclaw in an abandoned classroom? It's not like Chang's a Gryffindor or one of Potter's special friends - at least, not now! - no one will care. Not enough to notice. And Chang will love it in the end, Pansy knows; she's so good with her hands.

Decided, Pansy smirks at the wall, and, taking out her wand, quickly charms her sticky fingers clean. She'll give it a few days, to let herself get really wet and ready, then she'll pounce. Chang won't know what hit her.

Pansy crushes the peacock quill beneath her heel on her way down the stairs.

 ****

. . .

Tracking Chang down and getting her alone is almost disturbingly easy, but Pansy is not one to disregard a stroke of good luck if it means avoid any difficulty whatsoever. Chang goes to an empty room to practice her charms after class, often watched over by one of the Professors Carrow but, lately, left alone; she is well-behaved and her charms are so innocuous, mostly household chores and the sort of things a better family would have house-elves to do, that no one suspects her of any foul play. Pansy knows better; Pansy knows Cho. She was a member of that stupid group in her sixth year, the one that broke the rules and tried to bring down Professor Umbridge. Of _course_ Chang would practice those spells she learned there the instant she found time alone.

So, three days after their encounter on the stairs, Pansy is lurking outside the room currently occupied by Cho Chang, listening in. Chang thinks she has protective spells up, but Pansy was there before she even arrived and snuck in under their radius; it makes her smirk in pleasure at the thought of getting one over on Chang. Too bad there's nothing really interesting going on yet; Chang's just _Scourgify_ ing and dirtying up the same desk over and over with an almost maniacal degree of concentration. Pansy honestly has no idea why someone would need to know how to clean something that well, and it's boring, besides; overuse of cleaning charms is hardly blackmail-worthy material. Pansy huffs quietly and leans against the wall. If Chang doesn't do something scandalous soon -

Just as Pansy starts getting disgruntled, she hears Chang pause. There's a brief rustling, a murmured charm that Pansy doesn't recognize, and then Chang says, quietly and firmly, " _Stupefy_."

Something crashes inside the room, and Pansy straightens up and grins. This is more like it.

She waits while Chang steadily builds up to more intense hexes and jinxes, until finally she is whispering curses that would get her beaten black and blue if either of the Carrows heard her; then, just as Chang finishes one curse and is shaking out her hand, preparing for the next, Pansy pushes the door open and strolls in. "Having fun, are we?"

Chang jumps so hard she nearly drops her wand, and Pansy kicks the door shut behind her. It locks with a soft click, a spell Pansy had cast earlier in the day. "You aren't allowed to be using those spells, Chang."

Chang draws herself up, and tilts her chin, obviously trying to look intimidating. Pansy's fingers are itching to break her. "What spells are you talking about, Pansy?"

"Oh, I think you know." Pansy practically slinks across the floor to lean on the desk Cho was cleaning so vigorously previously; she feels alight and confident, as she does when performing a seduction. "And I think you know what would happen if I told Professor Carrow about it."

Chang looks absolutely mutinous, an expression Pansy delights in. _I'm going to fuck that look right off your face_ , she thinks, and debates saying it, but before she makes a decision, Chang snaps, "They won't believe you. I'm - "

"You're _nothing_ ," Pansy mocks. "Who are you in this school? No one. You were a friend of _Potter's_ \- " she flings it out like the accusation it is, and Chang flinches, " - and you have that uncle hanging over your head. You have no weight in this school, Cho Chang, so you'd better do what I say if you want to save your skin."

Chang looks down, stares at the floor, brow still furrowed in anger.

"Fine," she hisses, "fine. What do you want me to do? Give you my other pens?"

"Nothing so plebeian," Pansy drawls in her best Malfoy imitation, and pauses, savoring the silence and the look of frustration on the other girl's face. This is it. "You're going to take your clothes off, Cho."

Chang's face contorts, at both the order and the use of her first name. Her hands flutter at her side, but she makes no move to continue.

"Well? I'm waiting," singsongs Pansy.

"You're sick," Cho spits, and sets her wand down - in the back of Pansy's mind she wonders _why didn't she hex me?_ but dismisses the thought; Cho's smart but she's an airhead - unbuttoning her shirt and loosening her tie. "You're a really twisted individual, Parkinson."

"And you're a disgusting blood traitor who should be honored that I even deign to _think_ about fucking you," snaps Pansy, only slightly gratified by the instant flush of red to Cho's cheeks at her words. "Take off everything, Cho, how am I supposed to use you if you keep your underthings on?"

Cho lets out an explosive breath and drops her head, easing her bra off her shoulders and stepping out of her knickers. Pansy's mouth goes dry; Cho's even better looking than she'd imagined, positively delectable. Thin hips, small breasts, perfect perky nipples that Pansy just wants to nibble on. Merlin.

"You'll do," Pansy says with a peeved sigh.

"I'll - " Cho swallows whatever she was going to say, but Pansy smirks at her.

"Go ahead and say what you'd like, we're all friends here."

"I hate you," Cho says, low and vicious, and Pansy feels a thrilling heat course through her body to pool at her cunt.

"Say that again," she says, "I didn't hear you the first time and you clearly feel so strongly about it."

Cho tenses.

"I _hate_ you," she explodes, and flings herself at Pansy, gripping her hair in a cruel fist and tugging it hard. Caught off-guard, Pansy paws at her in an attempt to get her off, but Cho drags her forward a few steps and slams her back into a wall. Pansy's eyes are smarting and she has no idea what Cho is doing, what's going on, but she wants it to continue so very badly.

"I hate you," Cho breathes, and kisses Pansy, hard and biting. It's almost all teeth, and it hurts, and Pansy moans and instinctively wraps her arms around Cho's waist, dragging her nails down her back. Cho hisses and nips Pansy's lip, a punishment, but Pansy can't have that; Cho is not the one in charge.

"You bitch," Pansy whispers, and claws Cho's back again, squeezing the soft curves of her buttocks hard. She hopes she leaves nail marks, thinks she probably will. "You absolutely gorgeous slut. How badly do you want to fuck me?" She gets leverage against the wall and flips Cho around, pinning her by the shoulders. Pansy feels like she's drunk an entire bottle of firewhisky, or like she's on fire every place Cho's fingers have trailed on her body. Lust and malice burn equally bright in Cho's eyes, and when she opens her mouth to spit out a retort, Pansy jams her fingers between those luscious lips.

"That's right, suck on them," she hisses, and with her other hand pinches hard at Cho's nipples, scratches down Cho's stomach - Cho twists to get away but Pansy won't let her - she slaps Cho's thighs hard, and watches a red splotch bloom slowly on golden-cream skin. "What do you want, Cho? Tell me - "

" _Fuck_ me," Cho moans, messy around Pansy's fingers, so Pansy yanks her digits from Cho's mouth and presses them between her legs, keeping Cho pinned to the wall with one arm braced against her collarbone and neck.

"Your cunt is so wet for me," Pansy gasps against Cho's ear, and it is, slippery and slick and Pansy toys with the bundle of nerves at the tip for a moment, making Cho whimper, Merlin, such a beautiful sound; she does it again, and again, and finally the whimper devolves into a whine and at the sound Pansy grinds down hard on Cho's knee, which has somehow insinuated itself between her legs.

"Keep going," Cho groans, her throat bared and her eyes shut, completely undone. "Keep going, don't stop, you utter bitch - "

Pansy thrusts two fingers inside Cho, who's so wet she's actually dripping over Pansy's hand, and doesn't stop, and rides Cho's knee in time to the wet, sticky sound of flesh on flesh, the sound of her fingers fucking Cho. Cho is gasping and twitching and grabbing at Pansy for balance and it is euphoric, Pansy is mouthing Cho's skin and biting where she can and whispering epithets and insults in a stream of consciousness. She is hot and flushed and she doesn't know if she can come like this but it doesn't matter, she just hopes she's fucking Cho raw.

"I don't want you to be able to walk tomorrow," she tells Cho, panting, "I want you to remember who did this to you - "

" _Pansy_ ," Cho cries out, and Pansy twists her fingers and slips her thumb to Cho's clit and Cho convulses; her body goes rigid and Pansy takes advantage of the few seconds to grind herself against Cho's leg - and just like that - a little more - _fuck_ yes, she's coming too, and she delights in the thought that she's coming all over Cho's body. _Delicious_.

Almost instantly, Pansy pulls away, and Cho crumples halfway to the floor. She braces herself against the wall with a fist and stares, wide-eyed and hazy, at Pansy.

Pansy turns away and quickly gives herself a go-over with her wand, muttering charms to make herself presentable. A wicked thought occurs, and she picks up Cho's wand as well, and turns to face her. Ah, magic; while Cho still looks debauched and desperate and whorish, Pansy is carefully put together, clean and arrogant, as she should be.

"Wh - where are you going?" Cho asks plaintively. "Can I have my wand?"

Pansy laughs in her face. Adrenaline is coursing through her system; she feels as if she's conquered a continent, razed a city to the ground; she feels as if she could destroy Cho with a word.

She won't. Not today.

"Good luck finding this," she says, gesturing with Cho's wand, and walks out of the room, humming, Cho a messy pile on the floor behind her.

 **III.**  
A day later, Cho paces up and down the corridor upon which the Room of Requirement typically opens. She thinks this is where they meet, the rebels, but she isn't sure.

"Please," she whispers, clenching the vials containing her prize in her hands. "Please, I need to speak to Ginny and Neville. Anyone who's fighting against Snape and his minions." It doesn't work. She pauses, panic rising in her throat - what if someone catches her? She has no reason to be here, no innocent errand to run - and says, a little faster, "I'm a friend of Harry Potter, I need - "

She blinks. There is a door in front of her, quiet and unassuming. _Thank Merlin_.

She quickly crosses to it and opens it; it creaks, which surprises Cho. She'd thought it would be more subtle than that, but then, Gryffindors have the run of the room, and Gryffindors are rarely subtle.

Inside is Ginny, flame-haired, and Neville, and a smattering of other students; she must've walked in on a meeting. They're all seated in a circle on giant, fluffy cushions. They're also all staring at her.

"Cho?" Neville says finally. Ginny echoes him, a closed-off look on her face. Cho feels like she's going to faint; it's safe here, no one could find her (Parkinson couldn't find here, either, and Cho doesn't know how she feels about that). Part of her never wants to leave this room; the other part….

"Hello," she says. "I brought you a gift."

"Oh?" asks Ginny, curious now; she cranes her head to look at the first vial Cho places before her, nearly a dozen long dark hairs encased in a slim glass tube.

"Pansy Parkinson's hair," Cho supplies.

"Er, thanks," says Ginny, clearly flummoxed. "And I want that because…"

 _My best weapon is my mind,_ Cho thinks, and sets the next vial down gently. She sees Ginny's eyes widen, and a grin begin to creep over her face. She thinks a matching one may be growing on hers.

"Polyjuice Potion?" Neville asks, the importance of the potion dawning on him. Cho smiles at him, thinks of Pansy's hair wrapped around her fingers as she kissed her, the potion's bubbling masked by an obscure charm whispered seconds before Pansy entered the room, how she was fucked not ten feet away from the cauldron containing what might be the riskiest thing Cho has ever done.

"Polyjuice Potion," she confirms, and smiles. "I have a plan."


End file.
